Last night I realized how long it had been since I’d bought a new album. I love music and I try to listen to a fair amount of it, but for one reason or another I just hadn’t been buying anything lately. (Probably because I have no money.) Sometimes got burned CDs from friends, or I’d listen to things online, or whatever. Then this weekend I decided to by Nico Vega’s self-titled debut full-length (I’ll put the review I wrote of it up soon).
The album is pretty good, but what stands out to me more is the odd and strangely nostalgic experience of listening to it. As Laura and I drove up to my parents’ house for dinner we rode in silence except for the stereo. We didn’t talk. We didn’t make phone calls. We just listened. It was during this time that I realized how long it had been since I’d done that. Usually when I listen to music it’s on my iPod, or in the car by myself. Sometimes I’m at home surfing the Internet and have music playing in the background. Yet, by listening to it they way we did last night it seemed to make it more important, as if we didn’t dare speak because we didn’t want to miss anything.
The experience was nostalgic because, though I’d never listened to the album before, this was an attitude I haven’t really had for awhile. In some ways it took me all the way back to being a teenager. In other ways, however, the experience seemed to sum up all those times that music matter so much for reasons I could never have articulated. It also helped me remember how certain activities are evocative of certain times, places, and feelings, even when we’re not aware of it.
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